


follow your heart (where it doesn't lead)

by vandoorne



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Formula One, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-04 00:01:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20461694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vandoorne/pseuds/vandoorne
Summary: peter could've raced in formula 1.shouldbe racing in formula 1. but here he is in mclaren as a trackside engineer, while his brother edmund zips around the circuit in the car, blindingly fast.





	follow your heart (where it doesn't lead)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [julianbashir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/julianbashir/gifts).

Peter had always been an avid karter as a child. He's had a few British Kart Championship titles to his name, across the different classes, moving on to Formula Renault and then Formula 3. He had hoped to join Red Bull's Junior Programme, and they _had_ been interested after his first win in Barcelona. So he got in, and had been dropped unceremoniously later on, being deemed as not having lived up to his potential.

Then well, he had gotten his results for his A levels.

So Peter had made his choice. After being dropped by Red Bull, there hadn't been many options anyway. No one had really wanted to take him in afterwards, even with financial backing from the Aslan Group, given how there were other racers who hadn't gone through a slump like he had. Embarrassingly, it had been triggered by a combination of mistake after mistake on track, and an awful breakup with his first girlfriend. So if he couldn't race then at the very least, he could be on the other side of the garage, right?

University goes by in a caffeine and alcohol (mostly caffeine, really) induced haze that involves working on project after project. Participating in Formula Student nearly sucks the soul out of Peter, and he's tired of how people cannot seem to stop sneering at him, telling him to get back into the car instead of trying to work on the car itself.

(He tells himself it's worth it, though. He'll do anything to get back into the world of fast cars going fast, even if he isn't driving said car.)

Peter graduates with a degree in Mechanical Engineering, with first class honours. On graduation day, he snaps a photo with Lucy and Susan, and sends it to Edmund.

_missing u_, he texts.

Edmund's reply doesn't come until much later. _congratulations_, he sends, with a thumbs up emoji. Then he follows up with _you coming to watch me race then?_

_if u can get me into the paddock for silverstone._

Edmund Pevensie, McLaren's new golden boy. Ever since Lewis Hamilton, McLaren hasn't quite had anyone quite like him. But then again, McLaren had experienced a sharp decline after Lewis had gone off to Mercedes and proceeded to extend his count of world championship titles. Whatever bursts of glory they had had been short lived, and it had been a slow crawl back to being competitive, after changing engine suppliers from Mercedes to Honda and then to Renault.

Those who kept up with the British karting scene would have known about the Pevensie siblings. Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy. All four had competed, with varying degrees of success. Ultimately, only Edmund had stayed on, being taken into the McLaren Young Driver Programme. Peter, Lucy and Susan had all headed off to university, to carry on in different tracks of their lives. Edmund, however, had continued. Blindingly fast on track, with a killer instinct. He had gotten into a couple of scrapes earlier on, clashed with both teammates and rivals in his karting days, then in Formula 2. But in his orange McLaren, here in Silverstone, in front of a home crowd? All grown up now, every bit the seasoned racer. He knows when to leave enough space now, knows when to push hard and when to let go.

Peter looks at the screens in the McLaren garage, headset on. He's got a paddock pass around his neck, saying that he's Edmund's guest. Lucy and Susan have been whisked away on other commitments, so it's only Peter who's gone to see Edmund race on home ground.

Edmund is climbing up in the ranks on the timing screen. Purple in sector 1, in sector 2 and then sector 3. A new personal best and of course, that means provisional pole right now. The McLaren boys are tense, and Peter cannot help but feel the clench in his gut, wondering if Edmund is going to make it.

(And of course, Peter cannot help but wonder, what if he didn't choose to go to university back then?)

The fleeting thought is cut short when cheers erupt in the McLaren garage. Edmund's gone and done it, smashed his previous record and no one comes close. He'll start first on the grid on race day.

Later on, Peter embraces Edmund, congratulating on his win. Led the race from start to finish. Edmund smells like champagne and sweat and sweet _victory_, and even as Peter tells Edmund that he's so, very proud, Peter cannot help but wonder _what if_?

It takes a while, but Peter finally becomes a trackside engineer for McLaren. Edmund's still racing for McLaren, with a decent shot at winning the championship this year. It's funny when Peter thinks about it, how long he had taken to come back to the world he had become so used to living in, whereas Edmund had been there the whole time, living out whatever dreams the rest of his siblings might have had, once upon a time.

Of course, securing a job with a Formula 1 team wouldn't have been that difficult, but Peter had been determined to do it on his own. After being orphaned, the Pevensie siblings had all been taken in by a mysterious benefactor, Mr Aslan, the powerful head of the Aslan Group, who had a stake in multiple industries. He was kind, if not a bit distant. A father figure, but not someone Peter would call _father_ anyway, but it was alright. He cared for them, providing then with opportunities wherever they wanted. Peter wasn't about to show that he would need more help beyond what had already been extended to him.

It isn't as if Peter doesn't enjoy his job. He loves the technicality, loves the precision. Loves making sure everything works as it should, and fixing them when they don't. The car should work like this through this corner, work like that in the straight.

But once in a while, the thought flickers through his mind, unbidden: what if it were him in the car instead?

Peter still gets interviewed from time to time. It's usually something along the lines of _remember Peter Pevensie, once a Red Bull Junior, what's he up to now?_ or _we couldn't get Edmund, let's interview his brother instead_. When he walks out of the paddock with Edmund and his physio, sometimes fans recognise that hey, it's the _Pevensie brothers_ and ask for photos and autographs.

Edmund handles it effortlessly. He's all smiles, knowing when to turn on the charm now, awkwardness and teenage angst from growing up in the shadow of successful sibling racers completely banished now. He radiates confidence now, and when Peter watches him, it is with the realisation that at some point in Edmund's life, he had tapped out of the responsibility of watching over his growth, and had only tapped back in after the most treacherous part of the journey had been over to see the man he had blossomed into today.

'You alright?' Edmund asks. He's washing up, getting ready for bed and honestly there's no need for him to share a hotel room with Peter, although this time might be the only exception, given how they're in Tokyo early before the race, before the rest of the team arrives. But Edmund insists, says it's just like old times, and Peter can hardly say no even though he feels that Edmund should really _really_ appreciate whatever privacy he can get away from the team. 'You've been quiet all evening.'

'I'm fine,' Peter says. He has already settled under the covers on his bed, ready to sleep, but he forces himself to stay awake. Is this his way of making up for lost time before his relationship with Edmund deteriorates into nothing but terse conversation? He doesn't remember having distanced himself from Lucy or Susan, on the contrary, he had showed up often to support them when they had still raced. But Edmund… Perhaps it had been jealousy, of Edmund achieving what he couldn't hope to any more. He hadn't been there physically, but had always made sure to send something, be it through their family group chat, or through FaceTime. But in his heart of hearts he knows that he has neglected Edmund, and it stings.

(Maybe this is redemption then, and if it is, Peter isn't going to slam the door in its face)

'Let's go to Disneyland tomorrow,' Edmund says. 'We'll get matching Mickey Mouse ears and Lucy will be so envious.'

Peter laughs, already imagining Lucy's scrunched up expression of indignation. 'Okay.'

The championship goes down to the wire in Abu Dhabi. Mr Aslan is watching on in his impeccably tailored suit, unbothered by the sweat trickling down his back. Peter is beside him, tapping his foot incessantly as he waits for the race to be over.

And then the fireworks go off, and Edmund _wins_, brings the championship home for McLaren and Peter releases the breath he doesn't realise he has been holding.

'Are you happy?' Mr Aslan asks, watching as Edmund is soaked with rose water on the podium.

'Of course,' Peter says, tears springing to his eyes. He tells himself it's because he's so proud of Edmund, but it doesn't settle well in his gut. 'Look at Edmund. He's gone and done it. World champion.'

Edmund smells of rosewater and champagne and sweat and he tells Peter in a rush that he couldn't have done it without his support. He passes Peter the champagne that the team has snuck in and Peter takes a long drink. Peter wants to tell Edmund that he would've done it anyway without Peter, he's always been managing so well without him. But he doesn't want to ruin the moment so he bites his tongue and pulls away, ruffling Edmund's hair.

'Congratulations,' Peter says, voice hoarse, eyes fond.

Edmund beams.

'I wasn't asking about Edmund just now. I was asking about you,' Mr Aslan says, falling into step beside Peter. The party is moving away from the McLaren garage now, and all around them people are heading off in different directions.

'I'm happy,' Peter answers, hands shoved into his pockets. But there's a lack of conviction in his voice, and he wonders.


End file.
